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The Archbishop of Canterbury on… Pam Bondi, attorney general or shitfaced Ryanair passenger?

WAKING with a hangover so excruciating my head feels like a timpani being pounded with sledgehammers by a 15-foot half-man, half-gorilla, I drink ten gallons of water and open a letter concerning a trust fund I set up.

Last January I had the idea of having a swear box screwed to the side of my pulpit. Since then, thanks to my fiery sermons, the deposits have accrued impressively and, thanks to wise investments on my part, allowed me to set up a trust fund to provide generously for everything from overseas grants to essential church maintenance. 

My example of financial good practice has spread far and wide, with institutions of all kinds reaping the benefits of swear boxes. I would urge any religious organisation – or indeed private individuals – to take on board the words of my mission statement: ‘Swearing – A Fuck Sight More Use Than The Power Of Fucking Prayer, That’s For Fucking Sure.’ 

I file away the missive, take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that billionaire Jim Ratcliffe, the owner of Manchester United and a resident of Monaco, has claimed that the UK has been ‘colonised’ by immigrants. He later apologised, saying he was sorry his choice of language ‘offended some people’. 

Fuck me, you ghastly, hypocritical, non-taxpaying, parasitical fucking scarecrow! You don’t mind your football team being crammed with immigrants, do you? Which is just as well, or you’d be losing to fucking Walsall every week several leagues down! Funny, isn’t it, how practically every multi-billionaire is an absolutely loathsome arsehole? Does acquiring billions thanks to our criminally lax global financial system turn you into an arsehole, or do you have to be an arsehole to be bent on accumulating said billions? It’s debatable, but even your cagey, obvious-damage-limitation apology is the work of an arsehole. Apologise for that apology for an apology as well, you fuckfaced twat!

Morgan McSweeney, Labour’s chief of staff, was forced to resign this week, after saying he took ‘full responsibility’ for Peter Mandelson’s appointment as US ambassador. 

Hahaha, finally you get dragged onto the fucking front pages and we get to see what you look like, having spent your entire career scheming behind the scenes. And it turns out you look like something that’s been dug out of a fucking field! Some weird growth hitherto unknown to the fucking vegetable kingdom! Behold, the mastermind who garnered a whopping 4.5 per cent of the vote for Liz Kendall in her party leadership bid and drove Labour’s polling figures to new lows! Still, sure there are plenty of new career opportunities for a genius whose great idea was ‘Let’s be racist too’. Good fucking riddance, you weird streak of twat!

Pam Bondi, the US attorney general appointed by Trump, took part in what the BBC described as a ‘fiery’ congressional hearing looking into her department’s handling of the Epstein files, during which she began yelling angrily at people, calling one committee member a ‘washed-up loser lawyer’.

Fuck my bollocks, did anyone fucking see this? It was like iPhone footage of some pissed-up madwoman being escorted off an airline flight for throwing an empty wine bottle across the aisle at a fellow passenger during take-off and screaming abuse at air stewards, who’s now getting sacked from her job as a receptionist at a beauty parlour after the footage went viral! And you’re fucking attorney general! The same job Robert F Kennedy had! Seriously America, you need to be fucking sectioned!

Finally, Wes Streeting wrote an article for The Guardian, stoutly denying he was ever in any way friendly with the disgraced former US ambassador Peter Mandelson. 

Hahahahahahahahaha! What kind of thick cunts do you fucking take us for? Your online fucking fingerprints are all over the internet! The mentoring, the advice, people describing you as his ‘protégé’ – yeah that’s typical behaviour for people who barely fucking know each other! Chances are your next career highlight will be eating kangaroo shit in a future series of I’m A Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here!, because you are fucking finished, thank fucking Christ!

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Mash True Crime: 'The police say my podcast is jeopardising the case. What are they hiding?'

Podcaster Jade Grimes doggedly investigates the latest crimes despite her complete lack of qualifications to do so and police pleas to stop

WHILE I work on episode 29 of our series Steele: The Norman Steele Murder, sponsored by the Hot Honey Deluxe Chicken Wrap at McDonald’s, I thought I’d give you all an update on the investigation.

I’ve long been a believer that journalists can crack cases that the police can’t. After all, who knows more about the psychology of sinking to the depths of depravity?

As you all know, since Norman Steele’s brutal murder last month, I’ve left no stone unturned trying to catch his killer. I’ve doorstepped his grieving widow dozens of times, sent hundreds of letters to his GP, and even managed to question his granddaughter by posing as a child at her nursery.

I’m making steady progress. Everyone will recall last week’s shocking revelation that Norman ate a low-fat ready meal carbonara in the days before he was killed, information I gathered from good honest detective work and some rifling through his bins. What could it mean? Was Norman attacked because of society’s latent fatphobia, or because he was trying to lose weight?

I’m sitting on another bombshell of similar magnitude, but, out of respect for his family, I won’t reveal it until the latest episode hits 15,000 downloads.

A lot of you ask me ‘why hasn’t the case been solved?’, and the simple answer is a lack of collaboration. While I’ve been more than willing to share my findings with the world, a major player in the case is staying tight-lipped. And it’s causing speculation to run rampant.

Now I’m the first to admit that I can be something of a lone wolf when it comes to investigating. I built the Brother-In-Law Theory from scratch; it was me who uncovered that he had a speeding ticket in 2003, so I do feel a certain amount of ownership over my research.

But the police are taking it too far. Asking simple questions like: ‘Can I see the body?’, ‘Can I see the evidence?’, ‘Can I visit the crime scene?’ are met with a wall of silence. In fact, the only contact I’ve had with them thus far was a visit to my home asking me to stop emailing Norman’s niece. How am I to believe that they’re ‘working hard’ on the case when they’re wasting time and resources on me? Is this what our taxes pay for?

Keeping pressure on law enforcement is the best weapon we have to discover why devoted family man Norman ended up dead after a normal Friday evening indulging in cocaine and male strippers.

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